A Kiss To A Kill
by Gregory Palmer
Summary: While on leave in France James Bond meets the lovely Ember Kenneth at the Casino Royale. A love affair evolves but a foreign threat could ultimately kill their relationship.


James Bond sat at the small round table, his hand resting gently on the white tablecloth. He looked up as a beautiful young woman entered the restaurant through the large glass doors; she was dressed in a long white silk dress, her dark brown hair rested on the snow white skin of her bare shoulders. Around her neck was a sparkling diamond choker that matched her long diamond earrings. The beautiful woman was guided to a chair to the opposite Bond and for a moment he stared into her deep sparkling blue eyes.

"You look beautiful," said Bond, the woman blushed and looked down for a moment.

"Please don't tease me James." Said the woman, looking back into the cold blue grey eyes, Bond wondered how such an attractive woman could be so insecure about her looks, from what Bond had seen in the last week she was quite a poised woman yet whenever he advanced on her in such a way she all of a sudden became timid.

Bond placed his right hand affectionately on her arm; reassuringly he looked into her eyes and said, "I wasn't joking." Her face lit up, a passion ignited in her blue eyes. A waiter walked up to the table, he was dressed in standard white tie evening wear. His hair was neatly slicked back and his thin moustache curled out at its ends.

"Est monsieur prêt à passer commande?" said the waiter, pulling out a small notepad from inside his waist coat.

"Oui" answered Bond, "Nous aurons du caviar, puis le saumon fumé, et ensuite des fraises avec de la créme. Et une bouteille de Dom Perignon '48, s'il vous plaît" Continued Bond, folding the menu and handing it to the waiter.

"James, what will happen once you go back to England?" asked the woman, who was now back to the alert poised woman Bond had met two days ago. The casino at Royale had been packed that night, Bond had made his annual trip down to coastal French town to lay a single red rose at the grey tombstone that read in plain engraved letters;

'Vesper Lynd  
1924-1951'

Bond paused for a moment. How Ember had reminded him of Vesper! The shoulder-length dark hair; the simple, yet elegant, cut of the evening wear -- but most of all the sweet tang of innocence that had drawn Bond away from the baccarat table and across to the bar where she had sat sipping a glass of cheap champagne.

"I could bring you back to London, set you up in the spare bedroom of my apartment, and keep you as a mistress until I retire. Then I would marry you, and we would move to the countryside and have children.

"Or," Bond continued, "we could run away to Jamaica or Switzerland and just forget the world and everything that keeps us committed to our boring lives."

The woman stared deep into his eyes once again; it was almost a habit, as if she didn't trust him. She searched his eyes for deceit before she answered any questions. She had no idea what Bond did for a living; she believed that his job involved passport administration – then again, so did most people who encountered an SIS agent.

"That sounds like some beautiful dream," said Ember light-headedly, as if she were far away in another world. Their conversation was cut short by the arrival of dinner.

After they finished the remainder of the champagne, Bond called for the bill; after paying, he took Ember on his arm and walked out of the restaurant doors, and onto the curved driveway where the valet waited.

When his Bentley was driven up the black semi-circle of pitch, Bond tipped the valet, and, because he was in an expansive mood after the delicious meal he had just enjoyed with the beautiful Ember Kenneth, he walked to the passenger side of the car, opened the battleship-grey door and gave the woman a polite hand onto the dark leather interior. Bond then ran around the car and hopped into the driver's seat, eager to reach the hotel where the main pleasure of the evening would occur.

Pulling the car up in front of the Hotel Splendide, Bond helped Ember out of the car; the couple linked arms and walked intimately into the lobby. As they walked across the polished floor and towards the lift, the concierge came running from behind the desk.

"Mr. Bond, I have a telegram from –" but Bond politely interrupted the young man, telling him to send it up to his hotel room in the morning. As the lift doors opened on the third floor, Bond led the woman to his room, where, after a brief struggle with the key, he managed to open the door and slam it shut behind him.

"Oh, James," said Ember as she hung her arms around his neck, reaching up and kissing him in a way a woman shouldn't ever kiss a man – or, at least, in public. Bond returned the kiss without hesitation, pushing her tongue back into her mouth. Ember took off Bond's dinner jacket as their lips pressed against each other; he moved his hands away from her buttocks and undid his tie. Moving his hands to her cheeks, he kissed her as she undid the buttons on his shirt.

Next thing Bond knew he was standing half-naked in front of the woman, whose diamond choker and earrings had been removed during the tide of passion. She stepped out of her stiletto heels and removed her arms from the open sleeves of the silk dress, which fell down into a small pile around her ankles. She was now wearing nothing except a pair of white lace underpants. Her breasts sat firm and high despite the lack of support and Bond felt an arousal he hadn't felt for a month.

Bond undid his belt buckle and dropped his trousers. Approaching the woman naked, he pulled her toward him and kissed her, pushing through her teeth and kissing her in a passionate fury. Slowly, he moved his hands down her naked back and onto her buttocks. Ember's soft hands came down onto his and affectionately, not forcibly, moved them up onto her breasts, which he massaged gently while she slipped off the white lace and stepped out of it.

Ember then pulled away from James and provocatively stroked his chest with one finger; she walked backwards towards the bed. It was a silent call, telling Bond that it was time – and, by now, there was no way that he could refuse.

The next morning, Bond awoke at 7:00 am. Ember's hand was on his chest and her naked body lay on its side next to him; she was sleeping peacefully. Bond gently moved the arm off his chest and walked naked across the warm carpet into the bathroom. After five minutes under the shower, he wrapped a white towel around his waist and walked back into the bedroom. Retrieving the clothes on the floor, he neatly folded them, remembering with appreciation the way they had come off; after placing the folded clothes on the armchair, he picked up the telephone receiver and dialed the number for the concierge's desk.

"Yes, could you please arrange an appropriate outfit for my guest be brought to room 306 by nine o'clock. Thank you very much – just add it to my bill, " Bond replied before replacing the receiver in its cradle, mentally picturing M's reaction when a charge for a dress turned up on Bond's hotel billing. Ember was lying under the thin sheet, supporting her head on her hand. Her brown hair fell on one side of her neck and her eyes glittered in the morning sunlight that poured through the window.

"What was that?" she asked, staring deep into Bond's eyes, sharp with suspicion.

"Just the concierge. I asked him to get you something to wear today," answered Bond, picking up the phone receiver again. "Shall I order breakfast?" he asked, already dialing room service. "Yes, black coffee, a pint of orange juice, two plates of bacon and lightly scrambled eggs and four slices of toast with marmalade." Bond placed the receiver back down and turned to Ember, "It will be about fifteen minutes, I am going to get dressed. Perhaps you could have a shower? The towels are in the cabinet under the sink."

"That doesn't sound like such a bad idea," she said as she walked over to James, hanging her arms around his neck. "I wish you could join me." She kissed Bond hard on the lips, then pulled away and entered the bathroom.

A few minutes later Bond sat in the armchair beside the door, dressed in a navy blue suit with a black silk tie. There was a knock on the door and the soft holler of 'Room Service'. Bond opened the door and two stewards came into the room; one placed two large silver trays on the white wrought iron table on the balcony and the other was carried a large black box. Bond took the box and handed a fistful of notes to the stewards who then left the room.

Carefully placing the box on the bed, Bond walked onto the balcony; he removed the lid from one of the trays and poured some black coffee into a cup. He sat back and drank it down with relish. Removing the lid from a plate of bacon and eggs, he looked through the open doors and saw Ember, wearing nothing except a towel that was wrapped around her body, picking up the box. Bond watched the silhouette of the woman disappear from his view, then returned to his breakfast.

He was drinking his last mouthful of orange juice when Ember appeared in the threshold, leaning on the doorframe. She wore a long pink skirt of satin with a white short-sleeved shirt; on her feet were white heels, with matching gloves. Her brown hair rested on her shoulders, and she had carefully applied some red lipstick to her lips.

"What do you think?" she asked as she rested her head on her hand.

"You look beautiful." Bond replied with a smile, staring into the joyful blue eyes. Uncovering the second dish, he served her with her meal.

When they had completed dining, they rose from the table, and in a matter of minutes they were out of the hotel and in the street, arms linked and walking pleasantly in the golden daylight.

However, back at the hotel the shredded pieces of a telegram floated in the toilet bowl. It read:

_Urgent! Redland Assassin in town.  
Female, Brown hair, Blue Eyes, Pale Skin._

That beautiful Sunday morning had been nothing unusual to the Concierge – at least, nothing unusual for him for when Mr. Bond stayed at the Splendide. At 7:08, he had received the message for a suitable woman's outfit to be brought to room 306; after a few phone calls, he had arranged for the outfit to be on his desk by 8:40. After a polite conversation with the honeymooners on the tenth floor about the weather and such, he had returned to his desk to find the pink and white garments in a black box with white ribbon neatly tied around it.

He had carefully untied the ribbon and placed last evening's telegram on the folds of the satin skirt, seamlessly retying the soft ribbon. He then organised it to be taken to room 306 with the room service and finally sat back for five minutes to enjoy his morning coffee.

It was approaching noon when Mr. Bond had walked back into the lobby, his suit impeccably clean, although his hair was messy as ever, the dark comma wildly spread over his forehead as if he had just been in a fist fight.

He walked up to the desk, asking for a telegram to be sent to Universal Exports in London. He smelt of a strange substance, something foreign to the concierge. The white handkerchief neatly emerging from his breast pocket had a speck of red: a speck so small that it was only obvious from very close view. After he had filled out the telegram the concierge said goodbye and took the sheet of paper.

Peering eyes were always a trait of a good concierge, and, looking at the unsent telegram, the man read the words: _'All taken care of. Thanks for the heads up'._


End file.
